Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

The banquet had begun.

Thus, the Holy Palace had been transformed.

Beneath the lamps, tables stretched the length of the Sultan’s Hall, draped in silks and laden with dishes from every corner of Devil’s Maw.

Roasted meats from the Northern plains, spiced rice from the Southern riverfarms, sweet pastries from the Western empire, and fruits so ripe they seemed to glow.

Lords and ladies from all corners of the sultanate had arrived throughout the day, their carriages clogging the streets outside, their servants rushing to prepare chambers that had not been used in years.

They came dressed in their finest, wearing jewels that had been locked away for safekeeping, their faces adorning careful neutrality typical of those who had learned to survive by saying nothing and smiling at everything.

And yes, that included the West.

Representatives from Parsa had crossed the border in force, their silver-and-blue banners snapping in the wind.

They found it an incredible honor to be invited to sit at the Sultan’s table, to break bread with the man who had killed an Angel.

And yes, yes, that also included their Empress herself.

Scheherazade.

Her presence surprised all.

Every single person was stuck staring at her.

Her hazel eyes stared back at them, an Empress who had no natural enemies.

Her dress was surprisingly simple: white silk, gold trim, and a slit up the side that revealed a flash of pale leg.

Malik, especially, was surprised by her arrival.

He had not expected her to come in person a single bit.

Perhaps a direct representative with a letter of congratulations.

But not this.

Malik did not know what to say to her.

He did not know what would happen if, or rather when, she and his wife clashed.

And so, before any cat fight could occur, he quickly approached the Empress.

"Scheherazade. I’m happy you’ve come."

Her beautiful hazel eyes glowed upon seeing him, the corners crinkling with genuine warmth.

"Ah, my love!"

She stepped close, enough that he could smell the grass and rain that clung to her.

"Of course I came. I wasn’t going to miss this for the world."

Naturally, her straightforwardness was no less apparent here than it had been in the cafe.

She made no effort to hide her feelings or mask her intentions. The woman wanted him, and she saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

But Malik was not going to back down.

He had learned that the best defense was often a well-placed tease.

"Are you that interested in the Angel’s remains?"

If she was surprised by his boldness, she managed to hide it well.

Her smile widened, and she tilted her head, the silver strands of her hair sliding across her shoulder.

"Do you think I would clone myself and come all the way here just for that?"

She countered with a rebuttal that confused him.

Malik scanned her figure, and, well, found himself noting her smell once more.

He was not one to focus on such things, at least not in an attraction sense.

But on her, it was impossible to miss.

The same smell as before.

’Grass and rain.’

...she smelled like a tree.

’Oh.’

The realization slowly settled into his mind.

It made complete sense.

The current her was a tree!

A living extension of something far older and far deeper.

Scheherazade was, by all metrics, old.

Centuries old.

Her true body was likely asleep in the West’s depths, buried beneath her castle. She did not go outside her territory much, if at all.

Scheherazade could not.

And yet, despite this, she had come here.

That showed just how much she valued Malik.

’I have to be careful of her. I don’t know just what she’ll do to—’

"Oh, Empress!"

Layla’s voice cut through his thoughts as she appeared at his side, her white and purple hair swept up in an elegant twist, her dress a deep black that matched the color of her lips.

She looped her arm through his, possessively, as if she had not given up on being Malik’s sole wife only a little while ago.

"It’s nice to see that you’ve made it."

Though beyond ticked off, Scheherazade clapped back with her usual demeanor:

"Thank you, Queen Layla. As I’ve said to my love earlier, there’s nothing that would make me miss this."

My love.

Those two words hung in the air between them.

Layla’s grip on Malik’s arm tightened even further.

"Ah, really?"

Her voice was sweet, too sweet.

"I didn’t know you perceived our alliance so highly."

She completely ignored the "my love" part of Scheherazade’s statement, pushing her back to the role of ally, nothing more.

"Yes, well, as they say, love is blind."

But of course, Scheherazade wasn’t about to back down.

"I think so too."

Neither was Layla.

"Hm."

"..."

The two stared at each other.

What Malik had dreaded was playing out before him.

A cat fight that attracted the attention of everyone at the banquet.

Thankfully, the lords and ladies were far too respectful to gawk, but they certainly didn’t stop their bodies from... leaning in Malik’s direction, and no, not to listen in to the exchange that would be whispered about for years to come, but simply to relax, yes, relax.

The Sultan did not know what to do to stop this before it got out of hand.

But thankfully, he did not need to.

"Empress!"

A little crimson owl came to the rescue.

"It’s meeeeee~!"

She slammed into Scheherazade’s head, her small claws tangling in the Empress’s silver hair, her wings flapping wildly.

"Did you miss me?"

Of course, no one else could do that but little Isha.

The same owl that Malik rode on his journey to the West, finding reward in eating cream puffs in that cafe with shameless abandon.

"Yes, yes, I did, little one."

Scheherazade reached up to gently untangle the owl from her hair.

It worked flawlessly.

The distraction, however brief, was enough to break the tension.

Scheherazade’s attention shifted, her smile returning to something genuine as she tickled Isha’s belly.

That was enough time for Layla.

She pulled Malik away, retreating from the catfight with the grace of a queen who knew when to withdraw.

Scheherazade noticed, of course.

Her eyes flicked towards them, watching them go. But she did not give chase.

She was entertained enough by Isha, and besides, if Layla was the one who had retreated, then that meant it was her victory, right?

"Husband..."

Layla paused once they were safely across the hall.

"Useful or not, you should be careful with her."

Malik nodded, agreeing completely.

The woman was a force of nature, literally, as dangerous as any Demon, and twice as unpredictable.

"Don’t worry about me. Go enjoy yourself."

Layla understood that as a signal for him wanting to be alone.

She released his arm, stepped back, and then—before he could react—kissed him on the cheek.

’...what?’

Layla quickly turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of nobles.

The Sultan stood there, stunned.

That had come out of left field.

Perhaps Scheherazade wasn’t the only unpredictable one.

Before now, the two had not initiated anything more than holding hands.

The distance between them had been a chasm, filled with years of misunderstanding and unspoken grief.

’Did she do it because we are in public? To show how strong our relationship is to them?’

He glanced around, noting that barely anyone seemed to have noticed. The nobles seemed to have returned to their own conversations.

’Is that not—’

Ah.

Scheherazade.

Scheherazade had noticed.

Her eyes were fixed on him from across the hall, her smile frozen.

Layla was not showing off, seeking comfort or connection.

She was only marking her territory.

’Heh... she’s my wife alright.’

While she might have lost the earlier battle.

Layla had certainly won the war.